


Slumbering War

by boy_of_flame



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boy_of_flame/pseuds/boy_of_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the tale of sleeping beauty. Aurora participates in the murder of a king, unintentionally unleashing a magic over the land of Teltha that stops the passage of time. 200 years later, the kingdom is released and aurora is rescued from her slumber by a young prince, but war looms on the horizon. What will come of these unlikely occurrences?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slumbering War

Massive steps arose out of the ground. Golden light seemed to emit from the splendor of the stairs. They extended into the darkness of mountains reaching into oblivion. Grays and greens and stone blues blended in a mirage of color, night only turning black when stars peppered the utmost reaches that one could see. Three circles shown out of heavens reaches, moon's light penetrating the lonely yet lively darkness. Voices drifted with the wind, up and down, forming their musical symphony of discord. The silence was empty and full. While voices filled the darkness, they seemed far away and disconnected, not breaking the oppression, just strengthening it. And through all the tyranny of the night, one sound started a chain of events, one crack in the stone of time that released all cacophony upon the land of mountains.

A footstep, a gentle woman’s footstep upon the first stair, echoed among the reaches of the crags and mounts. It was the soft sound of a bare foot placed upon stone. It was a clean foot, unsullied with the normal dirt of the passes in the mountains. No fine dust laid upon her feet and step after step they climbed the stairs of luminescence.  One step after another the pale skinned feet climbed. They belonged to a pair of slender legs reaching up into a white blue dress. Black leaves were scattered among the silk of the fabric. Her ankles seemed as if they should have been entangled in the folds of her kimono, but she moved with overflowing grace and poise. Thin fingers hung at her side, rings encircling the slender, elegant slivers of skin and bone. Bracelets encompassed her wrists and armbands, her biceps. No sleeves hung from her shoulders, and the collar fell loosely around her neck, not revealing too much, but enough to not be exactly modest. She climbed up and up, never seeming to tire or become frustrated.

Her face was blank and emotionless. Red blood like paint ran across her lips. Black kohl lined her stone gray eyes. The most notable thing about her ran over her face, down her cheeks, past her neck, and down her back. Midnight threads traced the nape and shoulders, thinly spilling off her face and down. Nothing disturbed her hair, just flowing as it should, never tangling or swirling without cause. It rippled and flowed in endless motion.

Eventually her gray eyes turned upward to see a magnificent sight. Light spilled out of a palace and down the steps, casting shadows among the woman’s exotic face. As she set upon the plateau, a masked man bowed simply to the woman, and led her by the hand to the entrance. She followed in her elegant and nearly soundless way. By the time she reached to door, she was certain that her escort had pocketed at least one ring. That was fine. Her task today was more important than one ring. She bowed to the man as he released her hand and thrust open the door. Light illuminated the night sky as she whisked into the hall.

Dancer upon dancer swirled in front of her as she immediately picked up the beat and followed along in time with a faceless man. One man passed her to another as she made her way, ever graceful, to the opposite side of the hall. A man sat, more than a man, a king. He did not move, but his eyes roamed over every person in the hall, faces churning in his mind. A black stone hung around his neck, not glittering, not pure darkness, but a steady gleam shone from it innermost depths.

Then a woman swept toward him, the woman who had climbed his steps so recently. In front of the king, a hand was placed upon her shoulder, enough to stop her but not powerful enough to harm. The face of a masked man turned toward the king who nodded simply to the man. the masked one kneeled and bowed to the king and allowed the woman to go through.

“You are beautiful, child. Your name?”

“Aurora.”

-Later-

Much later, a thud issued from a room deep within the chambers of the palace. It was the sound of a body being thrust onto a wall. Aurora gasped for breath from between the king's lips. He pulled the hair from her face, and began attacking once more. He twirled her around and steered her to an enormous bed. His beefy fingers fumbled with the collar of her dress. He clawed at her kimono and striped it off of her pale body. He pressed his body onto hers, attacking her with a startling ferocity. His fingers traced down her back, then pushed her under him, engulfing her in himself. He pulled at the belt around his waist, feeling her fingers upon his neck. her hands left him as they pulled apart, and reached into her dress, bunched around her waist.

He once again tried to push himself onto her only stopped by a hand on his chest. She rolled on top of him with a small triumphant smile.  A flash came down upon him and he gagged, the dagger digging into his chest. As it shot down upon again and again, there was a ringing around the room. A clang of the blade against a necklace, not just any necklace, the one in which the stone resided.

Time stopped, time exploded, time became nothing. It was a detonation of an instance becoming nothing. Black thorns shot out of the stone, twisting, churning, writhing through miles of hallways, spilling out into the night mountain air, down upon the crags and mountain passes of the lands.

-200 years later-

A young man laughed as his sword slashed at the thorny vines. This deep into the forest, almost ten miles in, and the thorns grew as big as his hand. Every once in awhile he would flick his sword at the growths, but mostly he dodged in and about them. Athletic and flexible muscles rippled along his bear back. He wore only a leather pair of riding breeches tied up by a piece of frayed rope. Silver gauntlets embraced his wrists and ankles, inscribed with protection runes. A tasseled necklace dangled from his neck, red strings running down his chest. All of his brown hair was cut short except for a braid that ran down the center of his back from the nape of his neck to his hips. Silver fabric spun around his head keeping the hair from his eyes. He was a warrior, every inch of him.

For the next five miles he went on like this, the thorns growing thicker and larger, the need for his hacking growing. He almost gave up on his senseless mission when a wall of thorns, never penetrated by light, appeared. A grim smile leapt to his face at the prospect of a new challenge. He swung his blade with bone crushing force. One slash left a gash in the thorns, a tear into another world. Two more followed quickly after, opening an area large enough to walk through upright. The smile on the young man’s face wavered between astonishment and an impressed smile. He glanced behind him then slowly turned back to the opening.

“Kuba, you have got to get yourself one of those,” he muttered to himself.

Before Kuba, night and day separated.


End file.
